


Five Little Pumpkins

by gremlins-came-and-got-me (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Minor) Mutual Pining, De-Aged Scott, De-Aged Stiles, Halloween Theme, High School AU, M/M, Same Age Derek and Stiles, Sterek Week '17, de-aged laura, pre-Sterek - Freeform, werewolves are known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 19:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12588504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/gremlins-came-and-got-me
Summary: Distracted by a car turning onto their driveway, Derek didn’t notice Stiles sneaking up on him until he upended the cup of paint-water all over his head.“Oops,” Stiles said, grinning smugly.“That was not an ‘oops,’” Derek told him, stripping out of his soaked shirt and using it to mop at the mess in his hair.





	Five Little Pumpkins

**Author's Note:**

> 11/01/17 Edited briefly to fix some word choices.

* * *

 

Laura bounced up and down chattering excitedly. Derek rolled his eyes and continued scooping out pumpkin guts.

Next to him, Cora snorted, flicking pumpkin seeds at Stiles and Scott.

“Remind me again why we’re babysitting these dodos,” she muttered, like it helped. Laura and Scott could hear them at whatever volume they used, and Scott would tell Stiles everything.

Derek shrugged. “Mom said to.” And whatever Mom said was law.

“Mom!” Laura shouted, pointing at the door where Mom had disappeared off to Deaton’s nearly three hours ago. Derek didn’t fall for it again.

“Trust her to leave us all alone with our cursed friends,” Cora sighed. She grabbed a handful of candy corns with her clean hand and stomped off.

“She didn’t trust us,” Derek called after her. “She trusted me.”

“Yeah,” Stiles chirped in agreement. “‘Cause you’re boring!” He and Scott high-fived and giggled like little maniacs.

Derek buried the sting of hurt that Stiles’ words sparked and used a claw to casually scrape out an eye for the jack-o’-lantern. He was almost done with Scott’s. Laura’s was already in the window. Cora had opted not to do one. And Stiles was content with splashing all sorts of finger paints (that Derek had had to buy with his car washing money) all over a series of gourds. He claimed he was painting the epic. “Yeah,” Laura had told him, “an epic _mess_.”

Derek couldn’t wait for things to get back to normal.

Normal was a Laura suffering from the worst case of senioritis Derek had ever witnessed and Peter had lived with them while he was in high school.

Stiles and Scott were supposed to be sophomores, in Derek’s grade.

Instead, they were all ten years old courtesy of an irritated druid in Laura’s grade.

Laura had been atrocious to live with when she was ten for real. Now that she had been de-aged back into a pre-teen (and had dragged Scott and Stiles with her), she was absolutely horrendous.

Derek sighed, smoothing the edges of Scott’s pumpkin’s crooked smile. He could hear Cora upstairs blaring one of her secret garage band CDs. Laura was in the kitchen now snooping through the cupboards and looking for the candy Mom had bought for trick-or-treaters.

Distracted by a car turning onto their driveway, Derek didn’t notice Stiles sneaking up on him until he upended the cup of paint-water all over his head.

“Oops,” Stiles said, grinning smugly.

“That was not an ‘oops,’” Derek told him, stripping out of his soaked shirt and using it to mop at the mess in his hair.

He wanted to be mad, but deep down he was glad Stiles was here. They sat next to each other in history and hadn’t exchanged one word all year.

Derek thought Stiles might still remember back when Derek first joined public school in fourth grade. Things were overwhelming and he’d latched onto the one scent that seemed constant in how it was in flux.

Stiles hadn’t appreciated his sudden and thorough attachment and had actively taken to running away whenever he saw Derek coming.

Now, Derek liked to think that they had learned to tolerate each other for Scott’s sake after a rogue alpha bit him freshman year.

“Just because you look like you’re ten, it doesn’t mean that you have to pull ten year old shenanigans,” Derek lectured, still rubbing his hair with his shirt. It was a lost cause. Stiles must have emptied one of the finger paint jars into the water because Derek could feel the clumps sticking to his hair.

Stiles didn’t respond, which was surprising. Once he’d gotten over his avoidance of Derek, he never pulled any punches and always retorted with the smartest, most painful jibs. Derek didn’t understand why he still liked Stiles when all he did was insult him, but Mom said he would later.

“Stiles?” Scott called. He was in the kitchen with Laura and Derek could hear (and smell, even over the paint) that they’d gotten into the caramel apples that were supposed to be dessert tomorrow night. “Come on,” Scott said. “We’ve got the good stuff.”

“Yeah, uh, I’ll be right there,” Stiles finally responded. Derek paused in heading to the laundry room for a dry shirt and a towel. Stiles was staring at him, eyes wide. His throat bobbed and clicked as he swallowed.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked.

“When did you get a tattoo?”

Derek twisted around despite the fact that his triskelion was between his shoulder blades and definitely unable to be seen by himself unless he was in between two mirrors.

“Uh, last year,” he said.

“Last year you were fifteen,” Stiles said.

“Fourteen when I got it,” Derek said softly. The fact that he was nearly half a year younger than most of their class was not lost on him. His mother had campaigned hard to get him admitted without having to adhere to the “preschool” rule.

“It was when I went to stay with my uncle over the summer.” Mom had been pissed when he got home and she could still smell the smoldering flesh where Peter had taken a blowtorch to Derek’s healed skin.

“It’s cool,” Stiles said, swallowing with the dry clicking sound again.

Derek made a face. “It wasn’t really,” he said. “Peter picked it out for me and made me get it. He was trying to make a power play on my mom. Apparently he needed an in with an alpha and I was the bargaining chip.”

“What’s a tattoo got to do with it?”

“I still don’t know.”

“Well, even if it’s not cool, it’s still really pretty like you.” Stiles immediately flushed and stammered an excuse before hurrying past Derek to the kitchen.

Derek heard Scott ask, “So you told him?” before Stiles shushed him.

Derek shrugged it off. It wasn’t any of his concern whatever was going on with Stiles.

“Cora! Get down here and watch them for me!” he yelled on his way to the bathroom. Cora shouted back something indecipherable, and Derek growled. “I’ll pay you!” he responded. “I’ll do your chores for a month. Just watch them for ten minutes!”

Cora finally shut off her music and leaped down the stairs. “What the hell happened to you?” She laughed, patting at his hair. He snapped at her with not quite human teeth and she laughed harder.

“Oh man, he finally tried to pull his head out of his ass, didn’t he?” She choked on an inhale. “Well, all I can say is just give him a chance.”

“What is everyone talking about?”

Cora grabbed his shirt and showed him the orange and blue smears. “Stiles’ favorite colors,” she explained. “On you. You’re not stupid, Derek. I know you’re not. Put it together.”

Then she left, the shirt slung over her shoulder as she jaunted into the kitchen.

For a long moment, Derek stood there, mind spinning.

Everyone knew Stiles’ favorite colors were orange and blue. He always said it was because he saw two things that people might never think would go together fit perfectly.

Derek knew Stiles liked those colors specifically because those were the colors of the New York Mets, Stiles’ mom’s favorite baseball team.

So, orange and blue was significant.

Orange and blue on Derek was significant. The flush after calling his tattoo pretty. The wordlessness when Derek took off his shirt.

Wait.

Stiles hadn’t just called Derek’s tattoo pretty. He’d said, pretty _like you_. Like _Derek_.

He frowned down at his smudged hands, studying the way the paint had dried over his fingers, over his palms.

Stiles liked him.

He didn’t hate him anymore.

And Derek had never hated Stiles.

Oh, God! Stiles was ten right now! This was not the time to be having this revelation.

Derek buried it quickly. He could examine it later. Right now he needed a shower.

And hopefully Mom would be back soon. Three hours was a very long time to talk to Deaton without becoming frustrated.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and he turned around slowly.

Stiles, sixteen year old Stiles stood there.

Behind him, Laura, seventeen and frowning, and Scott, sixteen and flashing a thumbs-up at Stiles, stood crowded in the doorway until Cora shoved them out of her way so she could go back upstairs.

“Uh,” Stiles said, hand on the back of his head as he shuffled his feet. “So, uh, I’m guessing you’ve kind of figured out my secret.”

“That you like me?” Derek said, wincing when the words came out sharper than he’d wanted.

“Yeah,” Stiles laughed, humorlessly. “That.”

“I like you too.” Derek spun on his heel and all but ran to the bathroom, locking the door and turning on the water so he could pretend not to hear Stiles yelling his name or pounding on the door and demanding that he open up.

A few minutes later, Derek gave up, washed his hair quickly, and dressed in the same jeans despite finding some of the paint on the back pocket, spread almost like Stiles had pressed his hand over the cheek.

He smiled at it, liking it.

Outside of the bathroom door, he found Stiles slumped against the wall, staring morosely at nothing.

“Sorry about that,” Derek apologized, “but someone tried to paint me.”

“You’re an asshole,” Stiles said. “I don’t know why I like you.”

“Well, you’re an asshole too and I like you in spite of it.”

Stiles laughed, finally looking up. “See? Asshole.”

Derek offered his hand, pulling Stiles to his feet. “So, not that it isn’t great that you’re back to yourself, but what happened?”

“With the druid?” Stiles waved a hand. “I pissed her off because I accidentally insulted her spell work. It’s just…it was so shoddy. I couldn’t not say something. You know me.”

Derek nodded.

“Anyway, Scott jumped in to defend me, and then Laura was there, and then we were all ten years old. The druid called Deaton who called your mom. I think she knew that a truth would undo the curse. I do have to say, the druid wouldn’t have passed her marks without her near-perfect curse, so she’s welcome.”

“I’m sure she is,” Derek said, trying to hold in his laughter. Secretly, he thought Stiles would be lucky if the druid didn’t curse him again the next time she saw him.

“Oh hey,” Stiles said, “we never finished our pumpkins. And it’s almost time for trick-or-treating.”

“Are you going to paint again or did you want to carve one?”

“Hmm.” Stiles tapped his lips, licking them when he noticed where Derek was staring. “I’ll paint. You still have to carve your pumpkin.”

Derek flicked out a claw, just to see Stiles roll his eyes and snort.

Somehow, there was more orange and blue paint when they got back to the front room.

Laura and Scott both cheered when Stiles pulled Derek to him, dipped him, and planted a big, wet kiss on his lips. Despite the fact that Stiles’ nose poked Derek’s eye, and that the kiss wasn’t very coordinated, it still felt nice.

Scott tossed Stiles a pumpkin while Derek pulled out the largest one that he had been saving for himself.

This time, when Stiles put his hand on Derek’s back pocket, the warmth and weight of it was obvious and felt more permanent than the paint. Derek smiled down at his scowling pumpkin, wiping a smear of blue across its brow, like a hairy caterpillar.

“Perfect,” Stiles said against his neck.

“Yes, you are,” Derek replied.

~ Fin ~

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted at [my Tumblr](http://1989dreamer.tumblr.com/post/167002997270/five-little-pumpkins).


End file.
